


don't forget to breathe

by voodoochild



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-09
Updated: 2010-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Control is a tenuous thing, and a Unit Chief must always have the illusion of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't forget to breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Criminal Minds kinkmeme, for the prompt "Hotch/Rossi, 24/7 D/s".

Sneaking off in the middle of a case to fuck is risky. Jerking each other off in the bathroom on the jet is risky. But fooling around in the office in broad daylight? When you're both Supervisory Special Agents and one of you is the goddamned Unit Chief?

That's professional suicide.

Dave doesn't particularly care, though, as he leans back in his office chair. The blinds are drawn, Morgan and Prentiss are down in the gym working out, Reid's still on crutches and can't climb the stairs to their offices, JJ's tied up on the phone with the local sheriff on their next possible case, and Garcia knows better than to come in unannounced. And he's got to admit, just the sight of Aaron Hotchner on his knees in front of Dave's desk is worth the huge amounts of risk involved.

This isn't the first time they've abused the privilege of having semi-private offices, nor is it the first time Aaron has asked for this type of contact while at work. In the past, it would have been quick, hurried, a frantic release of tension and stress – not this complicated tangle of their personal and professional lives.

Then Foyet happened, and everything changed. Aaron can't keep his head on the job anymore, and this is one of the only ways to force it back. He's always been like this; before, he'd had Haley and Jack as an outlet where he could snap back to himself after a hard case. He doesn't have that safety valve now, and it's showing. Dave tries to anticipate the aspects of a case that might trigger a break in control, things that he knows will lead Aaron to his hotel room at some stupidly late hour of the night, needing to regain that control.

It had been the second victim in their last case that had triggered Aaron. Timothy Caldwell, age 19, raped and stabbed to death. The victimology was different from Foyet's – this UnSub wasn't a sexual sadist, the rape was an afterthought, and the knife wounds were to mask the initial use of restraints – but it was still that combination of knife wounds and sexual assault that sent Aaron reeling. He'd been on edge the entire plane ride back to DC, but there was no time to deal with it then.

Now, Dave can try and repair the damage.

Aaron hasn't moved in five minutes, which is good – he's gotten some of his calm back. Dave stands up, rounds the desk to stand behind Aaron, and rolls up the sleeves on his shirt. He lays a hand on Aaron's head, and a small cry escapes the younger man. Dave shushes him, his hand coming down to curve around Aaron's jaw and tip his face upward. The thin-lipped, razor-eyed professional mask is still there, and that's the first target, then.

"Today was a good day," Dave says, and Aaron nods. "We caught Bates before he could kill again. Your team – our team – did their jobs, and because of us, Bates is going away for life."

Aaron doesn't say it, but Dave can see the remonstration in his eyes. _We didn't save Andrew and Maureen Ellis. We didn't save Timothy Caldwell._

"We're home. We have the weekend ahead of us, and this case is going to be closed. We're going to meet the rest of the team for dinner at JJ's on Saturday, see Will and Henry. Tell me how you feel about that."

Aaron takes a deep breath, trying to beat back the memories of nine stab wounds and dead teenagers, and begins speaking softly, monotone. He's always like this at first.

"Good. We haven't had dinner together in a long time, and I always look forward to Will's gumbo. It'll be nice to see him, catch up. And Henry, he's getting so big. Just like Jack at that age, growing like crazy." Aaron pauses, some of the tension draining out, and that's a good sign, because sometimes thinking about Jack just winds him tighter. He clears his throat, shoulders relaxing incrementally, and Dave lets go of his jaw with a soft brush of his thumb over Aaron's cheek. As he moves his hand back around to the back of Aaron's neck, Aaron begins speaking again. "I got some of Jack's old clothes out of storage last week. I know Henry's got an entire closet, but maybe JJ could get some use out of them. I almost put them back, because I knew Haley would want to go through them, but then I remembered she's still in protection."

There's a reason he's brought this up, so Dave just listens, stroking his fingers softly through the hair at Aaron's collar.

"I put my fist through one of the plywood boards on the side of the storage unit. It didn't make me feel any better."

Dave nods. "What happened next?"

"I got the call from JJ about St. Louis. By the time wheels went up, the swelling in my hand had gone down. Prentiss asked about it on the flight – I told her it was from the Seattle case. She believed me."

"Do you still want to hit something?"

Aaron shudders, closing his eyes. "All the time. My office door. Reid, when he pointed out the stab patterns. The window of the jet. That sheriff in St. Louis who called Prentiss a dim bulb because she missed the scratches on the window of the Ellis house. Morgan, for the way he was looking at me on the jet. Your office door, when you closed it six minutes ago."

Violent impulses. All right. Dave knows how to deal with those, and he's glad it's not the self-loathing or the knife-fixation or the survivor's guilt. They're more difficult, they require time and attention, and they don't have that right now.

Dave flexes his fingers in Aaron's hair, and pulls back sharply before Aaron can think to pull away. Aaron's head snaps back, and yes, that's it, the first crack in the shell. Aaron's lost the glint of authority, of command, in his eyes, and really looks at Dave for the first time since he'd closed his office door. Aaron looks a little angry, a little frightened, and mostly aroused. This is good, he's not suppressing any longer, this means he's starting to let go.

"You want to take a swing at me?" Dave asks, edging his body directly against Aaron's, crowding him.

Aaron's breath is coming shallowly, but his voice is clear. "No."

Dave presses him. "You sure? Wouldn't be the first time."

"No. I don't want to hurt you. Even if you're getting melodramatic again."

"Good," Dave says with a small smile, easing his grip on Aaron's hair. "Did you hit any one of those things you mentioned? Your office door? Reid? Morgan?"

"No," Aaron says flatly, and Dave can see a little bit of amusement lurking in Aaron's expression. "If I had, I'd have broken the door, Reid would have a bandage to go with his leg splint, and Morgan would have knocked me on my ass two seconds later."

Dave cracks a smile – Aaron's a skilled fighter, but he has no illusions about his capabilities. Morgan would have knocked Aaron on his ass.

"That's right. I'm glad you didn't give in to your anger. That shows control, Aaron. That's good." Dave lets go of Aaron and walks around to lean against his desk. Aaron's eyes remain trained on the wall, and Dave can't tell how he's doing if he can't see Aaron's eyes. "Look at me."

Aaron looks up, and oh. That's it.

"There you are."

Aaron breathes a little easier, cocking his head in a motion Dave's become very familiar with. He nods, and Aaron picks himself upright, brushes off his suit pants, and walks forward until he's nose-to-nose with Dave. He kisses Dave, a light, but slow brush of lips against Dave's, and flicks his gaze upward. It's what it should be; calm, collected, and with enough control to get them through the day.

They've surpassed the first hurdle. It'll get better after this.

~*~*~*~

The rest of the day had gone quietly and without any further tension. Aaron had agreed to meet Dave for a drink at his house later. He'd had his usual meeting with Strauss about the closed case while Dave did both of their paperwork because they wanted to get out of there sometime before midnight. Prentiss and JJ had brought back Indian for dinner, and Garcia had pestered them to also spring for Due Fratelli's cheesecake for dessert.

Dinner with the team is always good, always full of laughter and teasing and the occasional food mishap that no one will let the victim live down. This time, it was Morgan completely missing his mouth and getting chicken korma on his dress pants. Garcia had offered to lick it off, and the table collapsed into subsequent hysterics. Dave was glad to see Aaron not even trying to suppress his laughter, and Prentiss had caught his eye in shared relief. He's not the only one who cares about Aaron, after all.

At eleven-forty-three exactly, he and Aaron are the last ones out of the office. Dave talks Aaron into riding with him in one of the Bureau SUVs, since neither of them have their own vehicles, and their bickering over radio stations almost feels normal. It's a cold night, and Aaron's turned the heater up full blast, even though it's barely fifteen minutes to Dave's house from Quantico. Dave lets him fiddle with the dials, because it'll just be fifteen minutes of pointed glances and blowing on fingers if he doesn't.

Dave pulls into the driveway and Aaron follows him up to the front door with his go bag slung over his shoulder. Oh well, at the very least, he can let Aaron use his washer and dryer instead of hauling his bag back to his own apartment and up a flight of stairs to use the building laundry room. Dave unlocks the door, lets Aaron go past him while he slides the deadbolt on and keys in the alarm code. He knows Aaron appreciates his security system – this keypad isn't covering up any bullet holes.

He's about to ask if Aaron wants bourbon or scotch when his back hits the door and he's got six-foot-one of very intent federal agent pressed against him, mouth hot and wet against his.

Dave drops his own bag with a thud and wraps his arms around Aaron, returning the kiss with equal desperation. It was a good night, but it was still an excruciating night, the itch to touch Aaron boiling under his skin for hours. Aaron's hands are scrabbling at his belt buckle, and fuck, if Aaron touches his cock, he's done. He hisses out a "wait" and manages to get Aaron's right hand in his grip.

Aaron's left-handed.

Aaron is left-handed, and he's using that hand to rub Dave through his jeans. Dave has never liked suit pants, but they're almost certainly more conducive to activities like this. Aaron's hard and throbbing, Dave can feel it against his hip, but he's probably not about to spontaneously combust from the friction of entirely-too-tight denim against him. Aaron keeps stroking, mouth moving up to Dave's ear.

"Lose it for me, Dave. That's it, god, you're gorgeous."

Dave groans incoherently, and half-heartedly tries to shove Aaron off him, turn the tables. It doesn't work, just makes Aaron more determined, makes him pin Dave against the door harder. Aaron pops the button to Dave's jeans and jerks the zipper down, laughing against Dave's lips as Dave grits out an "oh thank god", and pushes the jeans down but not off. Aaron won't let him lose the boxers yet, the bastard, instead continuing to jerk him off through the damp cotton.

"Aaron, seriously, c'mon," he complains, but Aaron just shushes him with a kiss.

They're sharing breath, panting into each others' mouths, and Dave pulls Aaron tighter against him, sinking his teeth into Aaron's lower lip and loving the way Aaron shudders. He's close, he's so close, and he's going to come in his pants like he never actually did as a teenager.

"I'm going to fuck you, Dave," Aaron says against his mouth. "Because you helped me today, and I know how much you like it when I'm in control. I know how much you need to lose yours. You can fuck me all you want tomorrow, but tonight, you're going to do whatever I say. And you're going to come for me all over those pants. Now."

Dave can't say no to that kind of request. He comes with a cry, and his head thuds back against the door as he tries to catch his breath. Aaron's a force of nature on nights like this, and sometimes it's all Dave can do to hang on. He gets his bearings back, then shoves Aaron over to the couch, watching while Aaron removes his pants and tie and gets his shirt only halfway unbuttoned before he gives up. Dave takes it slower, hanging his coat up, kicking his shoes off and unbuttoning his shirt before he takes it off. As soon as his jeans and boxers hit the floor, he looks over at Aaron and almost swallows his tongue.

"Get the hell over here," Aaron rumbles, hand wrapped around his cock, lips wet and red, "and suck me off."

That's perfectly fine with Dave, he loves Aaron when he's half-dressed and so aroused he could scream. He loves it when Aaron is focused on his own pleasure, demanding and frantic. He loves Aaron most of the time – in his suit, completely naked in a bed or a shower, lying around in boxers and a tee shirt on the weekends – but this relentless, needy, wild-eyed Aaron is just breathtaking. Making Aaron lose and regain his cool in healthy ways is one of his favorite pastimes, and Dave is about to indulge himself.

Dave drops to his knees and gets a solid grip on Aaron's hips, pressing a kiss to Aaron's hipbone before taking Aaron's cock into his mouth. Aaron actually swears profusely - "fuck, Jesus fucking Christ, Dave, your mouth, god, your fucking mouth" - as Dave begins to suck him off, and Dave's pleased. It usually takes Aaron a little longer to reach the uninhibited-swearing portion of the evening, but it looks as if he's decided to jump right to it. Dave's not as good at sucking cock as Aaron is (talk about your religious experiences – Dave will never understand how a man married right out of high school living monogamously with the same woman for fifteen years can suck cock better than most hookers), but he can admit, he's got skills.

And right now, he's putting them to use in driving Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner right out of his mind. He knows what will make Aaron beg to come, just how to lick at the head of Aaron's cock and stroke a finger on the skin behind his balls. He knows that deep groan in Aaron's voice, the way Aaron fists his hands in Dave's hair and will tug and pull and fuck Dave's mouth the way he knows he can get away with. He knows the way Aaron's hips will roll and thrust, and how Aaron gets quieter when he's about to come.

It isn't long before Aaron's gasping "Dave, please, I – I'm going to" and coming hard into Dave's mouth. Aaron falls back against the cushions, smiling that deliciously devious smile he only gets during sex. It's so at odds with his clean-cut appearance that it's always made Dave want to tie him down and strip him until he's nothing but that smile and skin. It was deadly when Aaron was younger – he didn't know quite what to do with it sometimes – but now, he knows exactly what it does. It means he's completely in control.

Mission accomplished.


End file.
